


We Are Happy When We Are Growing

by Dreaming_in_Circles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kid John, Teen Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_in_Circles/pseuds/Dreaming_in_Circles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*EDIT*<br/>A series of one-shots about John and Sherlock growing up together. The first is when John is about 10 and Sherlock is a freshmen at Uni, and forward from there.<br/>Title is a quote by William Butler Yeats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone always makes Sherlock's family rich - and they probably are - but I wanted to try it where it was John's family that was wealthy.  
> Also, I just love JRR Tolkien to death, so yeah...  
> Finally, I wrote this when Jonny Lee Miller and Benedict Cumberbatch were still preforming Frankenstein (did anyone else die upon hearing that?) so that also had to make an appearance.  
> As usual, this is un-Beta'd, not Brit-picked, and I wrote it on three different devices, so... I direct you to the comments.  
> In any case, I hope you enjoy!

John was literally bouncing in his chair with anticipation. He could hear his mother’s heels on the hardwood floor, and smiled grandly to himself, a small secret all his own.

“What is it, John? Why are you smiling and- Really John.” His mother placed her hands on his shoulders and looked at him harshly as he stared up at her. “What did I tell you about fidgeting and bouncing?”

“Not to.” John said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and sitting as still as he could. His mother smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you. Now. What has you so excited?”

“Sherlock’ll be here soon!” John started bouncing, and stopped a moment later. His smile only grew as he was able to share his secret.

“You haven’t seen him in a while, have you?” His mother smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair out of John’s eyes. “Why do you like seeing him so much?”

“Because he’s brilliant!” John chimed excitedly, and he meant it. Sherlock was clearly the smartest person on earth, and John knew that was a fact.

“I’m glad you like spending time with him.” John’s mother smiled again at him, then stood and walked away. John smiled as her heels clicked on the floor again. She only wore heels when she was going out, and that meant Sherlock had to come over to babysit. John turned and looked back out the window, waiting as patiently as he could.

“Do you have the tickets, dear?” His father walked into the room, hands still fiddling with a tie.

“Right here.” His mother responded, and John turned away from the window to watch them. They were so… perfect. At least, they worked together perfectly. Sherlock had said it first, that they were really incredible people. Because they were so opposite, and yet worked together so well.

The doorbell rang, causing John to jump before leaping to his feet with a happy yell. He raced to the door, ignoring his mother’s half-hearted pleas for him to slow down in the house.

John watched the butler open the heavy front door and raced to hug Sherlock as he walked in the door. Sherlock crouched down and wrapped his arms around John as the ten-year-old was lost on the billowing folds of Sherlock’s greatcoat. 

“I missed you.” John mumbled into Sherlock’s chest. 

“Me too.” Sherlock ran a hand through John’s hair, and pulled away to stand. John smiled up at him, but Sherlock was looking over his head. John turned to see his parents standing in the foyer, his mother with a smile, his father’s face emotionless.

“Always good to see you, Sherlock.” John’s mother cooed, smiling at the teenager. Sherlock smiled graciously back and greeted both John’s parents.

“Do come in, dear. No need to stay in the doorway.” John’s mother beckoned Sherlock forward, and John grabbed his hand and practically dragged him in. “Now,” his mother continued, and John rolled his eyes at the boring part. “John’s finished all his homework, but still needs a bath and dinner. Dinner will be ready at six o’clock as usual. If you have any questions, just ask the head of the household, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Of course.” Sherlock nodded politely. John tugged impatiently at his sleeve.

“We have to get going or we’ll be late, dear.” John’s father chimed in. 

“Have fun John. See you tomorrow. We should be back around midnight, Sherlock.” John’s mother smiled at them both and they started out the door.

“I hope you enjoy the play.” Sherlock said, and John’s face lit up. He was doing it again.

John’s parents turned back with confused expressions. “How did you know?” His father asked.

“I have a friend who was going to see Frankenstein tonight; I just assumed you were going to see the same thing. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” John’s father sounded surprised.

“Well, I do hope you enjoy it. Which monster are you seeing, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Benedict Cumberbatch, of course. The reviews I’ve read say he’s simply fantastic at the role.” John’s mother said.

“I’ve heard the same thing. Have a good evening.” John’s parent’s nodded back at Sherlock and then left. Sherlock finally turned to look at John, who was still tugging at his sleave.

“How’d you know they were seeing a play?” John asked with an impish grin.

“It was your mother’s jewelry…” John’s grin grew as Sherlock explained. It was just… brilliant.

 

The evening came and went, but not fast enough for John. They played a board game, watched a movie, ate dinner, John took the fastest bath of his life, brushed his teeth, and finally, finally, it was time for bed.

John climbed into bed, tucking his legs under the blue blanket. He wasn’t wearing pajamas, not yet. He’d change after.

“Where is he?” Sherlock asked, walking into John’s room carrying a large rad bag.

John pointed to the chest at the end of his bed, and Sherlock opened it up, disappearing behind the lid for a moment before closing it, emerging with a small green object. John bounced on the bed happily, excited energy overflowing. 

Sherlock smiled, and turned off the lights to John’s room, leaving the bedroom door open so light could filter in from the hallway. He settled down next to John in bed and handed John the small green object.

John looked at it to see a small doll, curly brown hair, red coat, green shirt, brown pants. His ears were pointed and shell-shaped, his feet had no shoes. John tucked his knees up to his chest and held the small doll in both hands, facing him forward.

Sherlock slide one leg behind John, and propped the other up in front of him. He pulled a large, red-brown object from the bag and settled it on his knee. He placed on hand on John’s shoulder and the other above the dragon on his knee. 

Almost immediately, the dragon’s belly started to glow and bright light poured out his open maw. A deep rumble filled the room, and John could feel Sherlock’s chest vibrate as he made the sound. It sent shivers up and down his back.

“Come now…” Sherlock’s voice was low and gravely. “Don’t be shy. Step into the light.” The dragon’s mouth lit up again and John’s eyes grew wide with wonder. 

John shivered again and held his little figure higher, into the light.

"What is your name, thief?" Sherlock continued.

"Bilbo Baggins. But I'm not a thief." John tried to make his voice sound as cool as Sherlock's.

"Oh?" Sherlock growled. "Then why are you here?"

"I... I wanted to see you. You see, I didn't believe all the old tales about your immense size and power. I wanted to see if they were true or not."

Sherlock moved his hand and the dragon responded, standing to its full height. "Well? What do you think?”

John moved Bilbo back, as if he were scared. "Oh Smaug, surely you are as great as the old tales say."

Sherlock laughed, a low deep sound that shook his whole body and made John shiver again. He loved this game, it was the best part whenever Sherlock came over.

They played for a long time; this time Bilbo was able to steal the Arkenstone and got out, but then Smaug in his wrath destroyed he village. That's what usually ended up happening.

"Lake Town always gets the short end of the bargain." John remarked to Sherlock as the teen tucked him into bed after their game.

"It does, doesn't it?" Sherlock agreed. "Maybe next time you'll find a way to stop Smaug from destroying it."

"Next time when?" John asked, voice sad.

"That's up to your parents." Sherlock leaned down and pressed a kiss to John's forehead. "See you later, John. Sleep well.”

"G'night Sherlock." John smiled and rolled over as his door closed, dreaming of Bilbo and his adventures.

 

Sherlock paused outside John's door, listening to make sure he settled down instead of going and playing with "Bilbo" some more. He was already up later than he was supposed to be.

All appeared well, and Sherlock descended downstairs. He dug his Chemistry book and notebook from his backpack and started to work on his homework. It wasn't difficult, of course, just tedious.

But his thoughts wandered, as they tended to do at the Watson residence. He could only guess why such an affluent family wanted a college student to babysit their son. His best guess was that one of them, probably the wife, had read some study from somewhere that said it was good for children John's age. Sherlock had no idea if that was true or not, only that it would be a difficult hypothesis to test under the best if circumstances.

Normally, Sherlock would never have taken a job like this. On most days he worked as an assistant at a local lab, but that didn't pay well, and his smoking habit was quickly becoming expensive. The Watson's, on the other hand, paid very handsomely to someone who knew what they were doing. All Sherlock had needed to do was some research and the job was relatively simple. His deductive abilities allowed him to determine what a child wanted very quickly, and John was no exception.

Sherlock had expected babysitting to be tedious, dull, and a general waste of time. But surprisingly, the young psyche proved to be a fascinating thing to study, John especially. He was a fascinating child; far more complex than Sherlock had imagined.

The "game" they had just finished was clearly his favorite part of the evening. It had risen out of John's love of The Hobbit, which Sherlock had read to him when his parents were out most nights a week. John had loved the book. So for his birthday, not five weeks ago, Sherlock had asked a friend to make the two characters. Those two had been John's favorite: he admired Bilbo and wanted to be him, and had enjoyed Sherlock as Smaug the most. Sherlock knew he had a good voice; at least good enough to bring John's fantasy to life.

Bilbo was a simple cloth doll, full of stuffing. Smaug, however, was slightly more complicated. It was a puppet, with clear fish line strings that wrapped around Sherlock’s fingers and couldn’t be seen. There was a small but powerful flashlight hidden in Smaug’s mouth that Sherlock could control with a small switch in his hand. An orange light bulb on the same circuit was in Smaug’s belly. It was really quite masterfully done.

But simple. Not complicated in the least. No, John was the complicated part. John was the anomaly Sherlock couldn’t figure out. And it wasn’t just John that put Sherlock off, it was what John made Sherlock feel. Happy. Good. He genuinely cared about John.

Sherlock snorted in amusement. Sentiment. It was such a finicky thing. Mycroft wouldn’t be happy. But honestly, Sherlock could care less. He wanted to feel those things about John. More sentiment. Sherlock idly wondered if that was love. He hoped it was. If he was going to love someone, he wanted it to be John. The only person in his life he ever loved, Sherlock was really glad it was John.

Sherlock smiled and went back to his homework. Sweet little John.


	2. Change is Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's life is about to change dramatically, but he know's Sherlock can make it better.

The only thing Sherlock disliked about this job was the walk. It was more of a hike, really. The bus stop was five kilometers from the driveway of the house - if one dared call it a house - and the driveway itself had to be at least a kilometer long. Probably closer to two. And, of course, it was raining.

But somehow, Sherlock always felt it was worth it. The money was good, of course, and he would walk seven kilometers in the rain if it meant he wouldn't starve to death tomorrow, but there was more to it than that. Sherlock knew John loved seeing him, and he would walk - what was the song? One thousand miles? - to make him happy.

By the time Sherlock got to the house, his jacket was almost completely soaked through. He was glad his backpack was waterproof, or his school books would be ruined. He wasn't sure he would have time for that today, but he never turned down a chance to do homework. It always took so long.

He rang the doorbell and the butler ushered him inside. He took Sherlock's coat with barely concealed humor at the soaked garment. He was led to the study, where Mr. and Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Hudson greeted him. He had expected the Watson's to be on their way out, not in the study for some type of meeting.

It took Sherlock seconds to determine there was going to be a change in the household, something revolving around the death of an extended family member, and if the sad looks on Mrs. Watson's and Mrs. Hudson's faces were anything to go by, John was not happy about it.

"Sherlock, please come in." Mrs. Watson gestured to the chair across from her. "Have a seat."

"Thank you." Sherlock did as she bid, leaning his backpack against his leg. No one seemed in a hurry to start the conversation, so Sherlock waited patiently, though he was pretty sure he could guess the entire situation already.

Mr. Watson was the first to find his nerve. He cleared his throat and sub-consciously straightened slightly, clearly used to delivering speeches. "My brothers and his sister recently passed away in a tragic car accident." He started, and Sherlock made the necessary apologies. Everyone nodded and Mr. Watson continued. "They had one child, a daughter, and she miraculously survived the accident. She's just younger than John, and Anna and I have decided to adopt her." Mr. Watson gestured to his wife. There was a pause and Sherlock nodded slowly, his suspicions confirmed.

Mrs. Watson picked up the story when her husband seemed uncertain on how to continue. "We are picking her up from the hospital today. All her things have already been moved, everything is ready for her. Well, everything except John." Mrs. Watson glanced out the door, presumably in the direction John was.

"Having Harriet stay with us is clearly the best decision for her. She'll be able to stay close to family and have a proper upbringing like she would have had the accident not happened. But John is being stubborn and refuses to accept this." Mr. Watson started again. "He's been asking to talk to you for several days now, but won't tell use what he wants to tell you. We need you to talk to him, Sherlock, and get him to accept this."

Sherlock took a deep breath. Mr. Watson's attitude was everything he would have expected for someone clearly a leader in a business. But that didn't mean he had to agree with the man. But he couldn't just leave John hanging, and did want to keep his job...

"I will talk to John." Sherlock said quickly, shifting forward in his seat, getting ready to stand. "And see if we can reach a resolution. I'm assuming he's in the den?"

"Yes." Mrs. Watson said, and stood with Sherlock. "Thank you so much, Sherlock. He listens to you, I know you can make him understand. This is not a bad thing at all; having siblings teaches children lots of things about teamwork and cooperation." 

Sherlock barely contained a snort at that; growing up with an older brother had taught him none of those things. He simply nodded, grabbed his backpack, and left.

 

There was a movie on the Telly screen, but John wasn't watching it. He was silently pouting about having Harry come live with them. It was the worst thing his parents had ever done to him, and his mother had orchestrated some really interesting situations before.

He heard the footsteps on the wood, he knew someone was coming. But he didn't want to talk to his parents. They didn't understand. His mother thought she wanted to, though she could help make it better, but John knew telling would only make it worse.

He saw someone in his peripheral vision, but didn't turn to look at them. He kept his eyes on the Telly screen. The person sat down on the couch next to him, close but not to close, and the curiosity was starting to kill John. The person didn't act like either of his parents, but who else could it be.

"I know you weren't close to your relatives, but I'm sorry anyway." The person said, and John recognized the voice instantly. He turned his head sharply to see Sherlock sitting next to him, staring straight, not looking at John. "Losing someone - anyone - who you've know all your life is scary, even if you weren't very close."

"They actually called you?" John asked it awe. He'd asked them to, but hadn't really expected anything to come of it.

"Well, since you refused to talk to them, you didn't leave them much of a choice, did you?" Sherlock finally looked down at John. John smiled, excited suddenly. Everything would be fine now that Sherlock was here.

"You can make it all better!" He pulled his legs under him so he was kneeling on the couch, almost eye-level with Sherlock. "You can make everyone happy!"

"How-" Sherlock frowned, then understanding dawned on his face. That look he always got right before he figured out the truth. John had no doubt he was right and nodded excitedly. This would be great, this would be perfect, everyone would be so happy-

But then the expression on Sherlock's face changed, and when he spoke, it was in that tone of voice adults used when they were, well, saying 'no.' "John."

John didn't let him get any farther. "You don't love me." He said, the truth coming in a rush. He felt a crushing weight on his chest, and tears sprung to his eyes. It was worse than when the realization that his parents didn't love him. He thought Sherlock loved him, that Sherlock would take care of him...

John shifted, trying to get off the couch and away from all those people who didn't really care about him, but Sherlock's long arms enveloped him and pulled him back toward his babysitter. John struggled but Sherlock wouldn't let him go. He made soft sounds, and petted John's hair, and John couldn't help to calm down and relax a little. He'd miss this, the safe and happy feeling he got from being around Sherlock.

"I do love you John." Sherlock said, but John didn't respond. What else would he say? The truth? Never. "Honest. And, I would love for you to come live with me. That would be incredible. But your parents don't want you to go, because they love you too."

John tucked his head under Sherlock's chin as he was talking and listened to the rumble of the words through Sherlock's chest. When Sherlock was done John shook his head. "If they loved me, they wouldn't be doing this to me."

"Why don't you like your cousin, John?" Sherlock asked softly, rubbing John's back with soft, reassuring movements. It felt good.

"She gets in trouble a little. And she would get into even more if they caught her at everything she did." John said. "I see her do bad stuff all the time. I tried to tell Mummy and Daddy before, but they didn't believe me." John could feel Sherlock nodding. "I don't like her, Sherlock. I don't want her to live here."

"You know why she's coming to live with you, don't you?" Sherlock asked, and John could feel his chest vibrate.

"Because her Mummy and Daddy died." John responded. He knew that, he understood that, but it didn't make him like the decision any more.

"Mm-hmm. She's got nowhere else to go, John. And I can understand why you don't like her, and that having a little sister is going to be a huge change for you, and that that's scary. But don't you think, to help her through this difficult accident, you should let her stay here?" Sherlock stopped, and John thought about what he'd said. He should help her, let her stay, because she was in pain. But he didn't want to. But she was in pain.

"Yes, we should." John finally said, somewhat dejectedly. 

"That's very kind of you to do, John." Sherlock said, stroking John's hair. John could hear the smile in his voice. "John, just because your parents are adopting her doesn't mean they don't still love you. They can love both of you at the same time." He added, and John lifted his head up.

"I haven't done anything wrong?" John asked, truly surprised. He'd assumed he'd been bad somehow, and his parents didn't love him any more. That that was the real reason they were adopting Harriet.

"Nothing." Sherlock said, and John believed him. "You're parent's love you, they always will."

John leaned forward and hugged Sherlock. They stayed that way for awhile, before John pulled back with a smile. "Can we do a puzzle, please, Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled and laughed. "Why not, John. I didn't walk all the way here for nothing." 

John grinned and hugged Sherlock again briefly before clambering off the couch and racing up to his room. He could hear Sherlock's footsteps behind him, and smiled. Sherlock was a great friend.


End file.
